A Little Light
by Vision in Blue
Summary: “Now she knew the way. All she needed was a little light.” Natalie’s emotional journey on learning how to cope. Long drabble: one-shot.


Light

"_Now she knew the way. All she needed was a little light." Natalie's emotional journey. Long drabble._

**A/N: FINALLY. My first. Complete. Next to Normal fanfiction. Seriously, this is my 4****th**** attempt at writing one. This little drabble, if you're unfamiliar, is Natalie coping with emotions. There's this thing in our nervous system (…I think. Something to do with our reactions…) that tells us whether we should 'fight' or 'get the hell out of here' in dangerous situations. However, I applied that 'fight or flight' concept to emotions. So, um, I hope you enjoy my drabble!**

**P.S. I've yet to see this show; trying to see it sometime between when Aaron Tveit (my future husband; screw Taylor Lautner) comes back and my marching band/speech team schedule…**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Next to Normal, I'd have had a Tony nomination for best book at 15. Obviously, this isn't true…**

**P.S.S. I'm up for revising this if I get too much of Natalie's POV imperfect. Leave me a PM if you have any major issues I should've known about beforehand. ;)**

It was a fight or flight situation: she could either challenge that voice in the back of her head telling her what she didn't want to hear, or she could fill her mind with something else . Her response was pretty obvious, considering the fact she quickly slipped out of the classroom as soon as Calculus let out to go to the practice room. The piano wasn't spectacular, but it was all her crappy high school could afford (the administration would rather give money for the wrestlers to go to Atlantic City for a tournament). Reaching into her messenger bag, she pulled out her sheet music. She swore under her breath as she discovered that there was a newfound crease, and she rubbed it over her blue jeans to straighten it out. Once it was somewhat decent, she put it back on the music stand and fixed the bottom so the music would stand upright.

Music was as close to magic as she was ever going to get. In one moment, she went from the sinking Titanic to a peaceful rowboat set out on calm water to a familiar island of peace. Music was her Golden Ticket out of this damned school, her crutch, her companion. It gave her power.

Power was what she craved. Well, other notorious figures yearned for power and wars erupted, but she wanted power to _end_ wars. Or, at least the uneasy feeling she felt whenever she was home. With her ten fingers, she transformed flat lifeless notes into a rainforest of melodies. She was in control of the tempo, the dynamics, and the mood. A key change could turn a piece from light and sunny to haunting and dark. At home, she just stood helplessly as she watched her self shrink between the folds of insanity.  
--

It was a fight or flight situation: she could either hold it together for another day, or she could let it go. Her response was pretty obvious, as she sat amongst the shreds of music and reports and choked down the pills. The water was supposed to wash down his voice, that little nagging feeling that her mother thought her brother was more important. Slowly, as the liquid ice trickled down her throat, the voice became more and more distant.

This was as close to memory loss as she could get. In one moment, her troubles melted away down a Niagara Falls of anxiety. It almost made her whole.

Almost.

She didn't know what was happening, and despite not having power over what was happening she didn't seem to mind all too much. Yet, she felt herself falling between the cracks.

She wanted someone to catch her.

--

It was a fight or flight situation: she could listen to her conscience telling her not to accept it, or she could tell her conscience to go fuck herself and take it. Her response was pretty obvious, as she felt herself get lighter and lighter. The guy who gave it to her couldn't be heard very well under the thumping speakers, but she swore he said that it would change her. As she felt like a celebrity among commoners, she couldn't help but agree with him. Up here, almost nothing could touch her.

Almost.

It almost satisfied her hunger. She felt as though she'd been stranded in the desert for three days, but had only been given a juice box by her rescuer. Sure, it felt good but she needed something more.

But what was it that she needed, exactly? Until she could figure it out, she'd fake it until she made it up.

Underneath her imperfect façade, she wished she were there.

--

It was a fight or flight situation: she could let him in, or she could let herself handle it her own way. Her response was pretty obvious, as the words poured out of her mouth and he soaked up the words and… understood.

She let herself fall… and he caught her. He was the beacon of light, guiding her boat toward a brighter place. He helped her embrace the emotions instead of casting them away. He taught her how to feel on top of the world without ever stepping up a steep slope.

He said he was there all this time, but as the tears flowed and she truly felt "crazy" she finally realized this. As he held her against him, she realized that he wasn't looking for power; he accepted what came with open arms, even if it was fucked up. Maybe she didn't need power over what was happening around her; she just needed power over herself. There'd always be things that would make her go crazy, but with inner power she would be strong enough to handle it.

She knew that she'd never feel totally complete; but really, who is _totally _whole?

--

It was a fight or flight situation. Instead of preparing herself for a fight or a flight, she turned on the light, and was ready to embrace the future with open arms. All the highs, all the lows; she knew she could do it. Now she knew the way.

All she needed was a little light.


End file.
